LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth |
BOOKED Solid |
A Review by Rebecca James |
Songs of the Gorilla Nation: My Journey Through AutismDawn Prince-Hughes, 2004
"In so many ways, large and small, I saw the best and worst of myself in the gorillas. But they had accomplished what I had not: the ability to remain open and communicate with others of their kind in a way that made them feel whole." Dawn Prince-Hughes' unusual story is like a brief window into a world few people ever see. Diagnosed at age thirty-six with Asperger's Syndrome, a type of autism, Prince-Hughes looks back as she writes and explores the factors that enabled her to achieve success despite missing what she considers a key piece of the puzzle: the label that finally validated her difficulties with human interaction. Other unusual characteristics associated with Asperger's include an extreme sensitivity to substances or noises that stimulate the senses. Prince-Hughes is quick to point out that her form of Asperger's is merely one point on a "spectrum" of autistic behavior. One reason she was not labeled for so long was because her intelligence and focusing abilities allowed her to "pass" in regular society. Her inner turmoil and inability to have friends, however, haunted her. I teach in a school where the number of students diagnosed with Asperger's has dramatically increased, due in part to a growing familiarity with the various forms of the syndrome. Formerly lumped in with the "emotionally disturbed" students or the more severe autistic classes, these students are now receiving the assistance that Prince-Hughes did not have until she met her partner, Tara. The two women found a common bond in academia, and Tara was able to interpret the public social interactions they shared for her, allowing Prince-Hughes to increase the frequency of her socially appropriate behavior and pursue an advanced degree. Long before Tara, however, Prince-Hughes began her own self-study of behavior, inspired by an unusual source: gorillas. Songs of the Gorilla Nation is about raising awareness with a dual purpose. Because they saved her emotionally and taught her so much, Prince-Hughes is as dedicated to promoting understanding about the complex and gentle animals as she is about generating sensitivity toward people with autism. Her life before meeting the Western Lowland gorilla family at the Seattle Zoo is painfully described in the initial chapters of the book, interspersed with glimpses of the future. She gives brief examples of her experiences as a child and adolescent, then relates them to either her gorilla experiences or Asperger's information. After a torturing and lonely journey through public education, Prince-Hughes dropped out of high school at the age of sixteen. She left her eccentric but bewildered and understanding parents behind and spent many years restlessly wandering, often homeless. Even in the erotically charged environment of 1980s Seattle, however, Prince-Hughes was unable to connect with humans. Her most successful job at this time, erotic dancing, was an unexpected but appropriate metaphor for her autism. She was able to shut out the observers and disappear into the pounding music, a pleasant source of stimulus for her. Unfortunately, the same phenomenon happened to Prince-Hughes, as it does other autistic people, when she was in an unfamiliar situation. She still experiences a form of this "tunnel vision," a narrowing of focus and inability to verbally communicate with the outside world. On her initial visit to the Seattle Zoo, she found a corner of the zoo that was quiet and watched in wonder as gorillas sat in silence. Their subtle movements and observant stillness were easy for her to identify with. The gorillas spoke a different language than humans, but so did Prince-Hughes. Their way of communicating and loving and trusting made more sense to her than the loud and often cruel behavior of humans. Slowly, Prince-Hughes began an individualized program of study at a local school that allowed her to enter an animal studies program with few traditional classes. Instead, she found mentors at the zoo and earned a job working with the gorillas and other animals. Sometimes her obsessive autistic mannerisms proved to be an asset; she was one of the zoo's best observers and recorders of animal behavior. Eventually, she was allowed to give the gorillas treats. While lining berries up at the edge of the bars sectioning off the habitat, she and the gorilla she was feeding accidentally brushed fingers. The gorilla remained still and so did Prince-Hughes. For the first time, she was able to stare into someone's eyes, to touch another being. This point of connection is the very thing that is missing for so many autistic people. Over time, her fascination with the gorillas drove her to find ways around her autistic behaviors. She writes, "The very thing that urged me forward seemed to increase my fear; I had found peace with the gorillas and wanted to make them my life, but to do so I would have to give up the exclusive shelter they offered and work with people toward compromise." She studied how the gorillas communicated and modeled her own necessary social interactions with people after them. She learned to consciously use the facial expressions, such as smiling, and moving her eyebrows, that come naturally to most people and are a basic component of communication. The close knit family and their traditions allowed Prince-Hughes to search within herself for the means to gain closeness to other beings. Her story is both sad and hopeful. The pain she experienced while ostracized from society and her continuing struggle with human relationships is difficult to witness, but her most recent successes, both personally and professionally, are instrumental in changing the perception of two unlikely adversaries. The gorillas as well as other autistic people will greatly benefit from the fascinating story that Prince-Hughes offers us in Songs of the Gorilla Nation. Rebecca James divides her time between Rehoboth Beach and Allentown, Pennsylvania where she teaches high school English. |
LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 14, No. 8 July 2, 2004 |